As she kissed him again, Portia let her hands explore his skin by feel alone. He was cleaner shaven tonight, and almost smooth. His hair was less silky because of the powder. The muscles of his neck were firm and she felt his blood beating there, fast and strong. Her memory showed her his bare neck, his magnificent naked torso….
Dear lord! Almost too late, she recognized her danger, recognized that she was affected as much as he. She drew back, but immediately he snared her and rolled so she was under him.
She struggled then, and silk ripped.
“Hell,” he muttered, ceasing his assault and moving off her to inspect the damage to her gown.
Portia was shocked that he could control his passion so swiftly. For a moment there he had been wild for her, she knew he had. She pulled his head down and kissed him again.
After a startled moment, he laughed and kissed her back. Soon he was kissing her as she wanted to be kissed, as he had kissed her last night, with all his body. She started to laugh too, laughing into his mouth even as they kissed.
Then they rolled again and fell off the narrow sofa, landing in a tangle of silk and velvet with him on top. Wild laughter won, and their mouths roamed, tasting, nipping….
This was madness, and Portia knew it, but it was the sweetest madness the world had ever known. His hand was under her skirt now and she didn’t care….
Rather, she did care, but only that it complete its anticipated journey. Last night he hadn’t touched her bare thigh. Tonight he was going to touch higher—
“Cousin Portia!”It was the horrified voice of Lord Trelyn.
Bryght’s hand froze.
Portia looked up to see his eyes turn suddenly cool and watchful. Then he smiled at her in reassurance. With remarkable efficiency, he got them to their feet in good order to face Lord Trelyn.
Then, only then, did Portia come to her senses and realize what she had done. She didn’t understand how it had happened, but she had finally proved her mother correct. She had tempted fortune, she had thought herself cleverer than others, and now she had lost all.
For it was not only Lord Trelyn who had seen them. Stately Lady Willoughby was with him, and from behind peered a footman and a wide-eyed maid. The story would be all over Town in hours.
Dear God, now she understood Oliver, who had always thought he would win the next time.
Portia turned to hide her face against the nearest convenient object—Bryght’s chest—then pushed away with revulsion.
“Come come, Cousin Portia,” said Lord Trelyn. “After such a disgusting exhibition, you cannot persuade us Lord Bryght was forcing himself upon you.”
Portia realized one side of her bodice was ripped, and there was real danger that her breast could be exposed. She clutched it closed. “I am not trying to persuade you of anything,” she said shortly. She tried to work her pearl brooch free one-handed so she could use it to mend the gown.
Bryght came to help her but she turned angrily away. It was his fault. He had started all this.
“We will talk later,” said Lord Trelyn coldly. “Where is my wife?”
Portia turned at that, the whole sorry situation flooding back. What should she do now? Perhaps it no longer mattered, for she was surely ruined anyway.
But the adjoining door opened and Nerissa came out, perfectly in order and mildly curious. “What is all this commotion? What is going on?”
Lord Trelyn went to his wife, but managed a quick glance into the small anteroom as well. “What have you been doing, my dear?” His tone was moderate but suspicious.
Nerissa leaned into his arms. “I felt a little unwell, Trelyn. The smell of the food turned my stomach, so Portia kindly escorted me here.” She turned to her hostess. “I am sorry for invading your private rooms, Lady Willoughby, but I needed a few moments of peace. My condition, you know…” Then she turned to Portia in wide-eyed innocence. “Why, whatever has been going on?”
“I came seeking you,” said Lord Trelyn, “and found your cousin and Lord Bryght in a most improper situation.”
Nerissa’s eyes widened. “Cousin Portia!” she exclaimed. “I am astonished. There is nothing for it, though, but marriage.”
Portia abandoned her attempt to loosen the brooch. “Certainly not!”
“But it is essential,” said Nerissa earnestly, “or you will have no scrap of reputation left, not even if you fight…like an Amazon.”
Portia gasped and looked to Bryght. Surely he could find a way out of this tangle, for he could want it no more than she.
But he took a slow, elegant pinch of snuff. “I am, of course, completely happy to marry Miss St. Claire. Our passion proves to be both overwhelming and delightful, so once it is sanctified, we can all be a great deal more comfortable.”
